


i'll show you mine if you show me yours

by stellarmads



Series: i'll show you mine if you show me yours [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Eventual Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Identity Reveal, Kidnapping, M/M, Non MCU Compliant, Peter has anxiety, Peter is 23, So many fourth wall breaks, Truth Serum, dad tony if you squint, daddy wade if you squint, dubcon but it's not sex, wade has pyschosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29057487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmads/pseuds/stellarmads
Summary: Peter is having a hard time balancing the life of Peter Parker and the life of Spider-Man. Throw in our favorite talkative merc and a truth serum and see what happens. Started as a one shot, potentially moving into a series.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: i'll show you mine if you show me yours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131839
Comments: 14
Kudos: 263





	i'll show you mine if you show me yours

Spiderman doesn’t know how to achieve balance. By night, the city begs for his help. By day it begs for Peter Parker’s attention and employment. It’s exhausting, and no one can seem to understand why Peter is always running behind. Often he finds himself daydreaming of a day when he could proudly proclaim himself as Spiderman. Anonymity is peaceful, but it doesn’t pay well. Add the stress and anxiety attacks of lying to everyone, and Peter finds himself crumbling. Just once, he wishes he could share both worlds without repercussions. 

\---

Spiderman starts the evening as Peter Parker. He’s dressed in his best pair of jeans and the one shirt not covered in wrinkles from being abandoned in the clean laundry pile. He had dinner plans with Aunt May that night, and she had informed him she was bringing a date. 

Peter had tried to hide how his voice took on a lilting tone during the phone call with her. His aunt hadn't been involved with anyone since Uncle Ben had died seven years ago. Peter's not a kid anymore. He understands that people will love more than once in their lifetimes and that moving on isn't betrayal. It's just...in his head he had always pictured the two of them against the world. 

Peter wants her to be happy, wants to be happy for her. So he had shoved down the conflicting emotions in his gut with a twinge of guilt and agreed to meet with them Friday evening for sushi. The sushi isn’t his first choice either. Ever since the spiderbite, Peter finds the smell of seafood to be unbearable. All brine and something that just screams “slimy” right down to the base of his spine. 

It’s the smell that had greeted him upon arrival, before his other senses even had a chance to process the environment around him. Sets of twinkly fairy lights and warm chatter gave him something to center on and he allowed himself a moment to steel his nerves, pressing his hand to his stomach, as if that would quell the waves of anxiety and nausea washing over him. From the window he can spot Aunt May, her back turned to him and hair pulled up into a loose bun. If he focuses his ears, muffling the sounds of car engines and steam, he can hear her warm laughter. The man across from her is handsome, his smile wide but the rest of his facial features smooth. 

Peter takes another deep breath and pushes open the door to the restaurant. A bored looking hostess slides up off a stool from behind the counter, dropping her phone with a clatter on the granite surface. She gives him a once over and Peter can feel from the way her eyes burn into him that she assumes he doesn’t have the money for this place. His cheeks flush, but she’s right. This is all on May’s date. 

“Table name?” she asks in a flat tone. 

“Parker….?” he asks more than states. He watches as her blue manicured nails click across a tablet she’s conjured from her server apron. 

“This way please.” 

As she leads him through a maze of tables, Peter’s ears catch snippets of conversation.  
.  
“-completely flipped the value of our stock-”

“-says he’s ready, but I know he doesn’t want kids-”

“-should be ready to go in a few days. I mapped out the tunnel-”

Peter starts to lean in the general direction of the last comment to snoop but he’s interrupted by a warm voice. 

“Peter!” Aunt May calls from a table over. Not even waiting for him to fully cross the distance she’s up out of her seat and rushing over to greet him. She’s wearing a dress he notes, a nice sage tone that contrasts nicely against her skin and green eyes. Something he hasn’t seen her wear since he was a teenager. 

His smile is only a little staged. Seeing Aunt May is always a treat. Moving out had meant he had to take up two part time jobs to cover bills, cutting into any kind of social life he might have. Now that he’s in her presence he can feel the stress and anxiety melting off his shoulders, and he opens his arms widely, almost bumping into a server who casts him a scowl. 

“Aunt May!” He closes the last two steps and she pulls him into a bear hug. Even though he’s sure she’s hugging hard enough to make his ribs protest, his superstrength simply recognizes it as a pleasant warm pressure and he’s careful not to squeeze back too tightly. She smells like rosemary and a sweet artificial scent that makes him want to sneeze. She’s wearing perfume. 

The thought pulls him back to the man who is now smiley politely up at the two of them. Aunt May jumps back, pulling Peter down into the seat next to her. 

“Earl, this is who I was just telling you about, Peter! Peter, this is Earl.” 

Peter carefully slides a manufactured smile across his face. Peter was right in his earlier deduction of the man. He is handsome. A carefully groomed beard, trimmed close to outline his jaw. Slicked back hair, just a few streaks of gray. A charcoal suit, a green pinstripe tie. Even his nails are manicured, Peter’s supersight zooming in on the thin layer of polish that reflects in the light. This man screams rich and put together. Peter feels under-dressed. 

“How do you do, Peter?” Earl asks. His voice is smooth, like he’s being paid to read an audiobook. Peter tells himself that isn’t a reason to already dislike someone. It isn’t. 

Peter forces his smile to widen a little. “Nice to meet you Earl. I see you’ve taken a fancy to my aunt.” He supposes he can get away with being a little prickly. He is Aunt May’s kid after all. 

“Peter!” May admonishes, but it’s light and humorous. Earl let’s out a low chuckle that makes Peter’s skin crawl. Not good. Three minutes down, over an hour left and he already hates the guy. Peter knows his judgement is being clouded by emotion right now. Besides, everything about Earl screams “businessman” and Peter’s always been a bit leery of men who’s biggest problems seem to be the stock market and whether their wives made dinner that night. 

“Your aunt here is absolutely captivating.” Earl’s steady tone pulls Peter out of his thoughts. “And she makes wonderful pies.” 

Peter knows that last part is a lie but he can see May flush under the light and so he just blindly reaches out, pulling his glass towards him to take a sip of water. 

“How did you two meet?” 

Aunt May giggles, leaning towards Peter in her seat. “Oh it was so cheesy Peter, you would have been rolling your eyes, I just know it. I was covering a night shift at the hospital and you know I get up in my head when I’m tired, so I turned a corner, not paying any attention, and bumped straight into Earl here! My patient files went everywhere and as he’s helping me pick them up, he says to me-” 

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.” Earl finishes. Peter almost vomits in his mouth at how slimy it sounds, but he can see out the corner of his eye that his aunt is beaming shyly. He can’t be the asshole problem child who rains on her parade. He can’t remember the last time Aunt May did something for herself. She’s always working overtime, trying to make a little more so she can send Peter some financial assistance. Peter feels horribly guilty accepting it, but he knows without her he wouldn’t be eating. So he takes it and vows that someday he’ll make enough for the both of them. 

Now, looking at Earl, he wonders if May wouldn’t have to rely on him. Peter’s not naive, he knows how early along this is, but it’s a nice thought. Having someone care for Aunt May the way she deserves. Knowing she’s not lonely, not struggling, but happy and healthy. He wants that for her. 

It just sucks that it’s seemingly going to come from a guy named Earl. Seriously, Peter wants to have a heart to heart with the man’s parents. Earl is solely reserved for tea and men who launder money, and Peter is desperately hoping that he isn’t the latter.

The rest of the evening seems to go by in a blur. Aunt May seems more than happy to do the talking for the two of them, telling wild stories about her work. Peter uses the opportunity to watch Earl closely. He’s perfect, Peter thinks suspiciously. Like a reflection of what a person is supposed to be. But his spidey senses don’t go off during the evening, and they finish their sushi and sake without a hitch. 

Earl offers the both of them a ride home, but Peter catches a glint in May’s eye and knows she wants some one on one time. He clears his throat and holds up his hands, not needing to be told twice. “I think I’ll walk. I’ve been missing the fresh New York air.” He inhales for emphasis and regrets it immediately, almost choking on exhaust from a passing cab. 

Earl nods and Aunt May smiles warmly at him, placing a gentle hand on Peter’s cheek. He can feel each wrinkle and indent mapped across his skin. 

“Call me more often.” She says softly. Peter nods jerkily, tears coming from seemingly nowhere. 

“I will. Love you Aunt May.” 

Her eyes are kind. Kind, selfless Aunt May. He feels guilty for ever disliking Earl. She deserves something of her own. “I love you too Peter.” 

He says his formal goodbyes to Earl and reaches out for a handshake. For the first time that evening, Earl looks uncomfortable and he clears his throat before reaching out to quickly grasp Peter’s hand. He releases it almost as soon as they make contact, but the half a second is enough for Peter’s spidey senses to send a jolt of lightning down his spine. He doesn’t mean to jump and he laughs nervously, brushing it off by bouncing on the balls of his feet. Earl joins him in a slight nervous chuckle, leaving Aunt May seemingly lost in between them. 

He doesn’t want Aunt May to get alone in a car with him. But he doesn’t know what he’s even sensing about the man. There are plenty of criminals in New York and not all of them are necessarily villains looking to hunt down Spiderman and his loved ones. He levels an eye with Earl. 

“Take care of her.” He knows it sounds silly coming from a twenty three year old without enough money for a suit. He hopes that the underlying threat is still clear to the other man. 

Earl’s face is already smoothed out again, handsome and calm. “Always.” He holds out his hand to Aunt May and she flushes as she accepts. 

Peter waits for them to get into the waiting car and drive nearly a block away before he’s racing into a dark alleyway and pulling on his suit. 

\---

It’s warm tonight. Peter shifts uncomfortably, his suit sticking a little to his sweaty skin underneath. He had been planning to get around to adding in thermal control, but that had been a plan for cold winter nights. Right now it’s mid-July and the humid air is suffocating him. He’s perched as high as he can, a skyscraper that crowns the surrounding buildings. The wind snapping at his suit should bring him comfort, but it’s only slight. How people still deny climate change is beyond him he muses, plucking desperately at his suit. They’ll all be boiling in a few decades if they can’t get their act together. 

A scream whips him from his thoughts and he’s automatically swinging down to get closer to the source. He circles the area, eyes and ears peeled for anything out of place. Another scream echoes and he lands himself on the top of a warehouse, quietly padding over to peer into the dim alleyway below them. 

A man is snivelling, one hand desperately covering his face. He sits awkwardly, crumpled a little to one side and Peter catches sight of a wrist that’s bent in the wrong direction. He cringes, but his senses snap him to attention before his empathy can get the better of him. Something bulky shifts in the shadows and he tenses. 

A mass of red leather stalks its way into the faint yellow light of the streetlamp, followed by a cheery voice. 

“I told ya, didn’t I? Now, don’t squirm too much. As of right now, I can still relocate that. Too much wiggling and who knows? I might just have to take the whole thing off.” His tone is warm and jovial, a stark contrast to the threat he’s throwing out.

“P-please.” the crumpled man whimpers. “I told you, I don’t know anythin-” 

There’s a heavy thunk and his shoulder is being pushed into the wall of the alley. It’s the shoulder connected to the injured wrist and the man wails, a stream of incoherent gibberish rushing out. 

The baritone voice continues. “Now normally I would never get in the way of a boy and his lads. A good ol’ G.N.O. After all, Friendship is Magic and that show does make some good points, weird racism analogies aside. Buttttt.” The red menace grinds his heel into the man’s shoulder and there’s more pained whimpering. “I heard from a special little birdie that you had something special planned and I want in. What has you ladies so riled up? Is it a party bus? Did One Direction finally make a secret underground comeback? I haven’t listened to their new album, it would be awkward to be the only one not singing along.” 

Peter knows this man. Rather, Spiderman knows this man. Red leather, two strapped katanas and a mouth that never shut up. Deadpool. Peter shifts uncomfortably where he’s perched. When he had first met the mutant, he had been all mercenary and no hero. Peter had been violently uncomfortable in his presence, senses overwhelmed with the scent of blood and the merc’s nonstop babbling. Deadpool had been adamant they team up for some “fanservice take downs that’ll be perfect bite size flashbacks”. Whatever that meant. Peter had finally relented after several unplanned team ups with the merc, hundreds of poem riddled pleas, and half a dozen bribery attempts with Mexican takeout. And dammit if the way to Spiderman’s heart wasn’t his stomach. Wade really knew where to find the best breakfast burritos, even in the waning hours of early morning. 

And Peter had seen Deadpool change. Slowly, but surely. Even back during their first team ups, Peter had laid the ground rule. No killing. And to the best of his abilities, Deadpool had followed it. Even though Spiderman will never approve of his methods, Peter doesn’t necessarily feel like he needs to stop Deadpool right now. There doesn’t seem to be blood drawn, and from what he’s seen of Deadpool’s interrogations, this is tame. He must be expecting the man to crack easily. Even still, Peter’s hesitant to make his way down to the bottom of the alley. Deadpool is unpredictable at best. He’s an excellent fighter and as far as partners go, Peter trusts him with his life. That doesn’t mean he’s excited to jump down and surprise two hundred pounds of twitchy muscle, aided by katanas and bullets. 

He carefully makes his way down the wall, fingers sticking to the brick and pulling up crumbs as he moves along. Deadpool’s still talking, musing over if Harry Styles would sign his limited edition vinyl of Watermelon Sugar. 

Peter plops down to the ground as quietly as he can, but he’s underestimated the merc. His spidey sense go off just in time for him to flip away from where there is now a katana embedded into the brick wall. 

Deadpool’s mask blinks (how does it do that?) and then he’s squealing like a fangirl who just saw Harry Styles. 

“SPIDEY!!!” He uses the shoulder he’s currently mashing as a launch pad and the man lets out a broken moan, clutching weakly at his useless arm. Deadpool ignores him. “Good to see you, my sneaky little black widow. No pun intended. Shut up, it was a pun, even if poorly executed!” The large man cocks his head to one side for the last part of that sentence and Peter knows it’s directed at his “boxes”, not Spiderman. 

“Hello Deadpool.” He greets him lowly. He doesn’t take his eyes off the man who is now trying to slowly edge himself away from the situation. “Caught yourself a fly?” 

Deadpool’s laughter is instantaneous and roaring, and Peter won’t admit he feels a warm glow of pride in his chest. 

“We can’t both have zingy one liners baby boy, that’s just not fair! You’re going to steal away my dedicated fans!”

Peter ignores him, although he internally questions if someone like Deadpool has fans. Probably. What a world they live in. 

“Your fly is trying to get away.” 

Deadpool gasps, whipping around to witness the man who had been trying to do a pathetic one sided army crawl. He yanks him unceremoniously by the ankle and drags him farther back into the alley. 

“Hey now, I wasn’t done chit chatting! Very rude to leave without a goodbye kiss. I would have even settled for a quick blowie.” All six feet something bend to loom over the man and Peter desperately tries to look at anything that isn’t Deadpool’s red leather framed butt. It’s an ongoing problem for Peter. Maybe it’s just been too long since he’s been laid, but whenever he’s teaming up with Deadpool he’ll find himself getting distracted by all the toned muscle the merc sports. And how he uses it. He almost catches his eyes drifting down to toned thighs, but he snaps himself out of it. 

“Now.” Deadpool’s voice suddenly drops the cheery facade, dipping into a low tone that makes Peter tense. “I’m going to ask again, and this time you’re going to answer honestly. If you don’t, I’m going to find every single joint of yours and bend them like a Karen at pilates.” The man whimpers again. “And just in case you thought I was going soft, here’s a reminder of how hard I can get.” Peter hears the wink in Deadpool’s tone and he goes to roll his eyes, but a sharp crack followed by a loud wail makes him start. 

“Deadpool-” He starts worriedly, but the larger man just waves him off. 

“No unaliving, promise sweetcheeks. No way am I blowing my chance to get another long night of tacos and that sweet, sweet bubble butt.” He turns his attention back to the interrogation. 

“Now Frank...Can I call you Frank?” 

The man stares up at him through tears in confusion. “It’s Bill.” 

Deadpool pats him on the cheek. “Sure it is sweetheart. Frank, I’m gonna need you to tell me what your boss is up to darling. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the explosives being pushed into the city. Now, I love C4 as much as the next guy, but really, it seems a little excessive doesn’t it? Whatcha got going on? Big birthday party? Retirement send-off? Great gammie’s funeral? ” 

The man shakes a little as Deadpool leans closer. “I r-really d-don’t know!” He stammers, cringing back as Deadpool reaches for his ankle again. “I promise!!! All I know is the boss got a lotta money for pushing this shit through the city. Wouldn’t have ever tried to do something that stupid, not with the spider sticking his nose in every corner. Boss just said somethin’ about it being a whole lotta zeros, worth our while.” 

Peter blinks owlishly, secretly pleased. It’s good to hear his hard work is putting pressure on the crime rings encircling his city. He suspects there’s other vigilanties helping him out, stretching out past Queens, but Peter’s never met them. Just a lot of talk about red suits. Apparently it’s a popular color. 

Deadpool sighs, pulling back to his full height. “Frank, you have been entirely unhelpful, just like the last two of your buddies. I’m starting to sense a pattern here.” He tilts his head, seemingly assessing the situation, nodding along to thoughts Peter can’t hear. “I agree, it’s a lot harder when you can’t just dump them in the Hudson.” 

Peter frowns, shifting, ready to make his presence known again, but Deadpool twirls around as he does, clapping. “I know! We can have Spidey here web him up, all nice and snug. I bet Frank would like that, triple x bondage and all that. Please Spidey, please?” The mask blinks several times and Peter gets the feeling Deadpool is trying to bat eyelashes at him. 

“First of off, gross. Don’t turn my webs into your weird fetish.” 

Deadpool cackles. “Oh it’s too late for that baby boy. Should we show him the forums?”

Peter feels himself heat up. “Gross Deadpool! Do you want my help or not?” 

Deadpool straightens, seemingly wiping his face of amusement and folds his hands in front of him, prim and proper. He looks ridiculous. Peter approaches Bill, leaning down to assess the damage. Bill squirms uncomfortably, but he’s in no position to get away. Carefully Peter holds Bill’s wrist, then without warning, gives it a quick jerk. It makes a snapping sound and Bill howls again, before Peter’s quickly setting it with his webs. The other wrist follows and Bill is reduced to tears and wheezing as Peter webs him to the wall, already dialing to tip off the cops. 

When he makes his way to the end of the alley Deadpool is still there, waiting for him. The merc bounces on the balls of his feet, looking nothing like a man who murders people for money. 

“Any fun plans for the night Spidey? Care to make it a double date? I’m counting Yellow and White, the lovebirds. We can swing by a shack, spice up the night with carne asada? My treat.” 

Peter doesn’t know how he manages to wiggle his eyebrows under the mask. He sighs, crossing an arm over himself tiredly. He hasn’t really spotted anything else happening tonight, although what Bill says lingers with him. He figures if he goes with Deadpool, the merc might fill him in on the situation. He nods and Deadpool cheers, slapping his shoulder with enough strength to shift Peter’s balance. 

“Spideypool F-T-W!” He cheers, and Peter crinkles his nose at the atrocious name pairing. 

\---

Deadpool has been doing exactly what he told Frank/Bill Peter learns. There’s been a lot of explosive equipment being pushed underground, Deadpool having caught whiff of it about two weeks ago. 

“And I mean, it’s a lot baby boy. Who am I to stand in the way of what the heart desires? But this is a little excessive, so perhaps it’s time to stage an Intervention. We can even see if A&E wants in on the deal.” The merc has his mask pushed up just to the bottom of his nose and he speaks with his mouth full, spraying steak bits as he talks. Peter thinks he should find it gross, but like many things with the red merc, it just made sense. His personality was such a whirlwind and Peter had learned to take everything in stride or be left baffled in the dust. 

He frowns, picking at his own burrito. “How much are we talking here?” It’s July. There’s no major political events planned, the fourth has come and gone. 

Deadpool shrugs. “Can’t be positive. If I had to guess, enough to level a couple blocks. I wasn’t really taking inventory, too busy trying to avoid getting shot in the ass. Yes, thank you so much for that vivid reminder of what being ball-less feels like. Send that one into America’s Funniest Home Videos.” 

Peter cringes at the imagery, then sombers thinking about the damage that could be inflicted. “Any idea who’s behind this? When it’s going to go down? Where?” He doesn’t mean to bombard Deadpool with questions, but his anxiety is beginning to take the reins. Aunt May. MJ. Ned. His shoulders are tensed and he doesn’t realize how shaky he’s getting until a warm, solid hand presses against his shoulder. 

“Hey baby boy, deep breaths. No going space cadet on me here.” Peter forces his breathing to even out, focusing on the cold cement of the rooftop beneath them. He can feel each individual loose rock shift underneath him. He’s not sure why but he wants Deadpool to continue speaking. Fill the space between them, between Peter and his dread. 

Deadpool does keep talking, because that’s what he does. “It’s probably not going to be for at least another week. I’m sure I have them spooked, rooting around in their panty drawer.” 

Peter wonders how many men have had their wrists dislocated. He doubts Deadpool was as kind to all of them as he had been to Bill. Although, as he chews on his lip, sparing a glance the merc’s way, he thinks Deadpool’s tamed down quite a lot from when they first met. He hasn’t heard as many wildly violent stories swirling around the red mutant. The last Spiderman had heard, Deadpool had managed to take down quite a large human trafficking ring and saved countless lives in the process. Still, he can’t imagine it was solved peacefully. He doesn’t voice any of thoughts though, instead taking another bite out of his burrito, chewing thoughtfully. 

“Have you managed to track down the big man making the orders?” 

Deadpool grunts, shaking his head lightly. “Been working my way up. Figured one of the little roaches would know something, but it seems they’re being kept in the dark. Besides,: he crumples up the wrapper of his own burrito and opens another from the bag between them. “I was hoping to keep this like safe sex.” Peter frowns, confused for a moment, before Deadpool continues. “Under wraps.” 

He hopes Deadpool can see him rolling his eyes. He does have a point though. No point causing a huge commotion and chasing any potential leads further underground. Still. Two weeks, and the surprisingly resourceful merc had found nothing. It made him uneasy. He makes the decision easily, as if the man beside him isn’t one of the most dangerous people alive. 

“I’d like to team up.” 

Deadpool smooshes his own face and squeals like a teenager again. Peter winces, his super hearing picking up the exact pitch Deadpool has reached. 

“Ohmygosh Spidey! Another team up! Unclarified to reader, this now marks our tenth mission together! We should totally do something special for this one, like a blood oath, or trading locks of hair. Ooo, I know, maybe afterwards we can solemnly remove each other’s masks and stare longingly into each other’s eyes!” 

Peter’s stomach churns at the last suggestion. Actually, scratch that, his stomach churns at all of them. He should know this is what he signs up for when he hangs out with Deadpool, but the merc’s left field comments never got any less jarring. He supposes that’s the “lady-killer charm” Deadpool so smugly refers to. 

“How about we just settle for tacos.” Peter counters. “And not that I know, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have hair to trade.” 

Deadpool places a hand over his comically large chest, acting stricken. “Baby boy you wound me. I’ll have you know back in the good ol’ days I had luscious beach blonde locks o’ many.”

“Was that back when pagers were a thing?” Peter quips, and he has to use his spidey senses to dodge the swat Deadpool aims his way. 

“Respect your elders! And stop calling me old!” Deadpool protests, before cocking his head in a telling way. “Shut up, I know I’m contradicting myself!” 

“Gotta agree with the boxes on this one.” 

Peter is all too used to Deadpool’s conversations with himself. Back after one of their earlier team-ups, Peter had asked Deadpool about them. The merc had been quiet, swinging his feet over the ledge of the bridge they were perched on, before explaining they had been around even before his mutation. After “the shit-fuck-fest that went five ways sidways and six ways south with diharrea as main course” the voices had just been louder, harder to ignore. 

“When you’re all alone, it’s easier to just give into them. Call me sappy or something. Did you know rabbits can die from loneliness? Whoops, wrong universe. Very jealous of the masks though.” 

Peter had gotten the feeling that yellow and white boxes were about the least crazy thing Deadpool had going on in his life, and left it at that. Sometimes the boxes were funny. Sometimes they were...Peter has gone to enough therapists to know what self-harm is. But Peter doesn’t feel like he’s in any place to judge. He’s a wreck too, he knows it. Spiderman has got his problems, Deadpool’s got his, and at the end of the day as long as the job was done, that’s what mattered. 

Back on the rooftop, Deadpool is waving a hand in front of Spiderman. “Yoo-who! Earth to Spiderman. Don’t tell me you were monologuing! You’ll steal all my lines.” 

Peter blinks, then rubs his head. He’s tired. They’re not solving anything tonight, and from the way the sky is starting to glow, he guesses tomorrow is closer to today. 

“We should meet up again, here. Tomorrow night.” Exhaustion is setting in and he hopes setting up definite plans will quickly appease Deadpool. 

It works. Deadpool’s eyes widen and he nods happily, bending down to scoop up the many empty wrappers littering the rooftop. “Sounds like a plan, Spiderman!” 

Peter’s so tired he doesn’t really register the words coming out of his mouth. “In a while, crocodile.” 

He webs himself out of there fast, face burning from embarrassment as Deadpool laughs behind him. 

\---

Peter gets there before Deadpool does. Figures. The merc probably ran into a kitten on the way here and got distracted. He doesn’t know why but the idea has him grinning. Maybe it’s something about how something as small and fluffy as a kitten or puppy can reduce the immortal mercenary to tears. Peter has witnessed it more than once first-hand. 

It doesn’t take long though, Peter hearing Deadpool swiftly climb up the fire ladder and poking his panda eye mask over the ledge. 

“Spidey! You’re here! You totally didn’t rain check me like a Tinder date.” The bigger man pulls himself up, bounding over to Spiderman. “I even wore my nice mask for you. Pretty sure I haven’t had my brains blown out in this one.” 

Gross. 

Peter clears his throat. “I don’t know where to even begin poking around. I figured you might have located the guy ordering the explosives around?” 

Wade drops the pretenses immediately. He’s surprisingly perceptive in that way, always knowing when it stopped being playtime and started being serious work. 

“Right to business baby boy. I did do my own snooping during the day. Turns out a lot of the orders are being placed under office supply shipments. A lot of empty warehouses, a lot of dead ends, but there is one address that has received at least three shipments. It’s not a lot to go off of, but I figured we might as well nose around, see if we can’t flip over a few rocks, find a few crabs.” 

Peter nods, fiddling with his web shooters. “Not really looking to get pinched tonight though.” And he isn’t. He has work in the morning and the last thing he needs is to come in sporting a shiner or limp. 

Deadpool tuts, lightly patting the holster on his thigh. “No one’s coming near you baby boy. Just a quick in and out, scope out and gather intel. Any baddies will have to wait until Spiderman is feeling a little more playful.” He wiggles his fingers suggestively and Peter swats at him. 

“Give me the address and shut up before I make you walk.” Peter mumbles. Deadpool’s eyes widen and he slings an arm over Spiderman’s shoulder. 

“Never miss a chance to ride the spider.” Deadpool croons, a bit too close to Peter’s ear. 

Peter doesn’t feel bad at the wheeze Deadpool lets out after a punch to the ribs. 

\---

Deadpool doesn’t stay quiet, making multiple innuendos and suggestive comments, despite Peter’s several threats to drop him from the sky. He won’t though, and he knows that Deadpool abuses that knowledge. Damn Peter for being such a nice guy. 

He doesn’t mean to, but he’s humming Nice Guys Finish Last and Deadpool takes it upon himself to be the vocals, wailing through the city. 

“OhH NICE GUYS FINISH LAST! WHEN YOU ARE THE OUTTCASTT!” 

Peter does drop him this time, but it’s on a rooftop and Deadpool easily rolls, bouncing to his feet like a cat with nine lives. The description is surprisingly accurate. 

“Whoo!” The merc dusts himself off, glancing around. “Who even needs cab service? From now on I’m just gonna hail down the local friendly Spiderman.” 

“Please don’t.” Peter isn’t really paying attention to him though. The building they’re on overlooks the docks. It’s not as isolated as Peter would like it to be. He can hear people from down the docks, see all the lights and cameras. Whatever is happening at this location, either they’re not being very careful, or they’re very confident. Peter feels dread in his gut and his spidey senses tingle at the base of his feet. He wants to run and get away from here, which tells him everything he needs to know.

He can feel the heat of Deadpool behind him as he peers over the ledge, down to the main entrance. There’s no one guarding the door, but he spots a camera nestled up in the corner, aimed towards the door. He loops around, glancing around the building, noting any potential exists. Two doors, one in front, one out the side. Six windows. One air vent too small for anything, save a small animal. 

“You’d think they’d be a little more guarded with their goods.” He comments, but even as he says it he doubts it’s this easy. The tension rests thick in the air and Deadpool hums, hand going back to touch one of his katanas. 

“Eyes peeled baby boy.” 

Peter decides to sneak through a window, pointing down to one in the corner of the building. Deadpool nods, following behind until Peter slowly crawls down the wall and peers into the window. It’s dark, and he can see little besides light fixtures and crates. Slowly, he pushes at the window. It’s unlocked. Peter hates this. 

He glances back up at the whites of Deadpool’s mask and nods before crawling in through the window. Quickly climbing back up to the ceiling Peter hangs there and surveys the warehouse. There are cameras on the other end, just slightly lower than Peter, aimed at the many crates in the center of the room. Peter quickly webs them over, then peeks back out the window to Deadpool, who quickly shimmies his way down and through the window. 

It’s all very anticlimactic. Deadpool makes his way to the crates, grunting as he carefully pries one open, then clicks his tongue. 

“Happy birthday to me.” 

Peter peers inside, and yep that’s explosives. He doesn’t have to look to know the rest of the crates will be filled with the same. Still, it’s frustrating. This is clearly only part of the loot. He had been hoping this would be a base of operations, or hold something of interest to them. This is nothing but a dead end. He lets out a frustrated groan, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Not to rain on your pity party- well actually to do just that, nothing hurts me like a twink in need- but there’s definitely still some useful stuff here Spidey.” He gestures to the side of the open crate.

Peter stares to where Deadpool has pointed. There’s a logo stamped there on the side, an upside down V with an arrow for one of the legs. Peter quickly memorizes it, trying to match it to anything he’s run across before, either as Spiderman or Peter Parker. He can think of nothing. 

There’s the sound of a camera shutter going off and Peter watches as Deadpool takes a picture of the crate, then of the room. When he turns back to Peter, he looks almost guilty, shoulders hunched over just a little. 

“I hate to rain check you on those tacos baby boy, but there’s some business I have to attend to first, and it’s better if you’re uh” for once Deadpool looks awkward, at a loss for words. “Not here.” 

Peter reads between the lines. Deadpool wants to make off like a bandit with the goods. Peter’s ready to protest, but Deadpool whines at him. 

“C’mon Spidey! I promise I have no super evil master plan with this stuff. Besides, I guarantee I can buy some information for us with just a crate or two.” He kicks one of them and Peter jumps. Explosives always make him nervous, and the way Deadpool is acting like a bull in a china shop...He makes the very stupid and self centered decision to make like a tree and leave before Deadpool manages to blow them both up. 

“Fine. Just. Fine.” He huffs. “Look, meet me on Tuesday night, same roof, okay?” 

He ignores the kiss Deadpool blows his way. As he quickly crawls out the window he swears the merc is quoting Romeo and Juliet to him. 

\---

It was a stupid decision to leave Deadpool with explosives and when he hears about someone throwing a rager with literal C4 as fireworks, he curses internally. No evil master plan in sight, just Deadpool and his stupidity. Still. The clips he saw on Twitter looked pretty cool. 

There’s a couple days until Deadpool and Spiderman plan to meet up, so Peter takes the time to research. He looks the logo they found the other night, but doesn’t get much from it. It probably doesn’t help that he’s searching variations of “upside down v logo arrow”. It’s frustrating, but he trusts Deadpool to get them the information they need.

In fact, it’s strange how much he trusts the merc. For all their time working together, he had never really tried to learn much about man. From what the Avengers said in their rare meetings, Deadpool was nothing but a liability. Spiderman was best to stay as far away as he could from the talkative mutant. And yet, during their team ups, Spiderman never really had problems with Deadpool. Once they had covered that no, Peter was not okay with “unaliving” people, Deadpool actually made a pretty great partner. He was swift on his feet, tactical, strong, and surprisingly genius when he wanted to be. And the talking...Well. Peter had found that others considered him quite noisy as well. Villains and crooks alike often snarled and hissed at Peter to shut up, to be quiet, that he wasn’t funny. Peter’s pretty sure that means he is actually hilarious, and they just don’t want to lose their cool baddie points by laughing. 

Maybe Deadpool is rubbing off on him. 

Still, it makes his anxiety simmer when he thinks about all the unanswered questions relating to Deadpool. About his identity, his motivations. He could see that Deadpool wanted to change and he did begrudgingly enjoy working with him. But truthfully, besides his love for mexican food, My Little Pony, and Spiderman, Peter knows nothing about him. 

Peter approaches Ned with it. He knows his friend is busy with his own college work, so he brings up a venti latte and some gummy worms as a bribe. It must work because Ned’s eyes light up when he opens the door, ushering Peter into his dorm room. 

“Secret Spiderman business?” He asks, eyes shining, before Peter even has a chance to sit down. 

Peter feels a lurch of guilt at the automatic assumption. “C’mon Ned, can’t I just want to see my best friend?” He tries, smiling. Ned stares at him, unimpressed. 

“You absolutely can, but I get the feeling you didn’t bring me a seven dollar coffee and candy just to say hello. I know what a bribe looks like Peter.” He leans forward on his swivel chair and snatches the sugary goods out of Peter’s hands. “Accepted by the way.”

Peter nods, cheeks and ears tinged pink as he plays his web shooters. “Well, you know how Spiderman has paired up with Deadpool a few times? I figured I should probably get to know a little abou-” 

He’s going to continue but Ned has already whirled around, fingers clacking speedily across the keyboard before he hits a button and the printer besides his computer whirs to life. Peter stares at him as Ned swoops up the first paper to spit through, handing it to him. Peter flips it over and stares at the page. 

It’s a dossier. On Deadpool to be specific. Except Peter can see that the merc’s actual name is Wade Winston Wilson. Oh wow. And people made fun of Peter Parker. 

Wade Wilson was part of an experimental mutant program, Weapon X. Wade Wilson was suffering from multiple forms of cancer. Wade Wilson used to be part of Special Forces. Current kill count: Over three hundred. Wade Wilson is by all means, immortal. Mutation: excessive and implausible healing. The second page is being handed to Peter and he reaches for it blindly, sucking up any information he sees. He pauses when his finger trails across a certain line. 

Wade Wilson has a daughter. He was married to a woman named Vanessa. Peter doesn’t know why, but something twinges inside of him. 

He flips through the next ten pages Ned gives him, but really after the first five it all seems a bit redundant. Recorded attempt to kill Wade, none of them successful. There’s some information about times he’s worked with the Avengers. Records of him and Spiderman, although they’re not very up to date Peter notes. 

A page of names. Peter skims that one, not wanting to see the full extent of Deadpool’s carnage. 

When he’s finally finished working through, he looks up wordlessly at Ned. Ned in response, shrugs. 

“I just figured at some point you might want to know who you were working with. Plus, I wanted to see if I could actually hack into Stark Industries. And I had to check that my best friend wasn’t going to be suddenly killed by a knockoff Power Ranger.” 

Peter’s mouth twitches into a smile. He’ll have to save that one for later use. “Thank you Ned. I really appreciate it. It’s not like this team up is any different, but…” He trails off, staring at the Newton’s cradle that ticks at the end of Ned’s desk. 

“But something is different enough to make you want to know everything about the guy.” Ned continues. 

Peter nods, worrying his lip between his teeth. “A lot of lives might be at stake with this one. I’m worried we might need to fight dirty. I’m worried-” He sucks in a breath, because he can’t say it. 

I’m worried we won’t be able to stop it. 

Ned chews on a gummy worm thoughtfully. “I believe in you Peter. MJ does too. You should talk to her about this stuff, you know I suck at being the comforting one.” He offers a small smile and a handful of gummy worms to Peter. Peter picks out a yellow one and pops it in his mouth. 

“Thanks Ned.” 

“And besides, from what I’ve heard Deadpool actually runs a Spiderman fan forum. Doubtful he’ll let anything bad happen with you around.” 

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the oncoming headache. 

\---

The next two days, Peter works and nothing else. He manages a few hour long naps throughout the day, between his trips to the local coffee shack he works mornings at and the community library where he works evenings. When he had first told Aunt May about his schedule she had admonished him, ranting about sleep cycles and self care. But she quickly fell silent to the elephant in the room: Bills. It’s what drives Peter, bleary eyed, back home after a long day of coffee and paperwork. 

He feels like death warmed over. His anxiety is creeping back up now that he’s not at work and has time to think. He’s so stressed, so tired, and so poor he can’t even afford a cab ride home. It’s with this realization that Peter does call MJ. 

“Hello?” 

Peter instantly relaxes to the calm sound of her voice. He breathes out. 

“Hi.” 

He hears shuffling in the background and he wonders what she’s doing right now. It’s been too long since they’ve seen each other. She had managed to land an internship with Stark Industries, per an anonymous recommendation. Last time they had talked she had been leading new research about nanotechnology and neural development trauma.

“What’s up?” She asks, after several seconds of silence on Peter’s end. 

Peter grips the phone, worried he’ll suddenly break down. “Uh. I just missed you. Been working a lot and all that.” 

“Sounds like it’s been stressful.” There’s a pause that makes Peter thinks she knows more than she’s letting on. “Want to talk about it?”

Peter breaks like a flooded dam. 

She’s her perfect mix of sarcastic, dry, and caring. Peter can’t tell her everything, trying his best to shield her from Spiderman’s world. Still, she’s uncomfortably insightful and hums and affirms whenever Peter needs a response. 

“I just feel like I’m being torn in two different directions. I want to give my energy to both things at once but there’s so many factors to take into account. It’s…” He pushes his hand through his hair, circling back to what she said earlier. His shoulders sag. “Stressful. Really stressful.”

The silence on the other end somehow manages to sound thoughtful. “Peter I think you should trust your gut. I know your anxiety makes you overthink things, but it sounds like you’re being pulled in the right direction. These variables, they’re probably smaller than they seem. I’m sure if you’re open and ready to be wrong at certain points, it’ll all be okay.” 

It’s like she’s said the magic words. His anxiety loosens up a bit and all he can feel is tired, tired, tired. He still has several hours before he meets up with Deadpool and all he wants to do is sleep. 

“MJ, I appreciate you so much and that’s exactly what I needed to hear, but if we talk any longer I’m literally going to pass out.” 

She laughs. “Get some sleep Peter. Talk soon.” 

\---

When Peter wakes up, he decides he’s going to tell Deadpool. How much, he’s not sure. Part of him wants to tell him everything. To rip off the mask and get the secrets out. There’s a faint sense of security in that, in knowing that someone could back him up 100%. 

There’s also the part of him that screams that is a terrible idea that can only end in getting hurt. 

As he pulls on his suit and swings through the city, he tries to think of ways he could approach the topic. The problem is, he doesn’t see one good way to approach the topic. Deadpool is so volatile in his reactions, Peter has no idea what to expect. His anxiety demands he anticipate the merc’s next move, but every scenario Peter comes up with quickly crumbles apart. The self doubt makes his stomach do flips and he groans, peeling up his mask a little for some fresh air. 

Peter thinks about Wade’s daughter and wife. His stomach churns again and decides he probably doesn’t need to include that part in his admission of guilt.

The city’s twinkling lights fly by beneath him, fading into warehouses and shops. Peter lowers himself to the meetup spot. Deadpool is already there and he whirls around, happily greeting Spiderman. 

"Baby boy, you’d better be ready to say ‘thank you daddy’! I have a name, location, and-” he leans too close into Peter’s space. “A new taco joint to celebrate with.”

Peter glares at him, but the effect is ruined with the mask. “I’m never calling you that, don’t be gross Deadpool.” 

Deadpool squawks, half laughter, half protest, but Peter’s still antsy thinking about how to dive into the whole “I read your dossier” thing, so he blazes forward. 

“You said you have a name, an address? When is this happening?” 

Deadpool crowds back into Peter’s space. Peter resists the urge to step away, overwhelmed by the scent of gunpowder, oil, blood, and heat. “Well, now, if you’re rearing and ready sweetcheeks. Brought my hollow points and everything.” 

Peter thinks the merc expects him to be grateful for not bringing actual bullets. It’s annoying that he’s right. 

“Give me the address and explain on the way.” He’s already squatting down for Deadpool to climb onto his shoulders. He almost misses the way the merc hungrily eyes his backside. Almost. 

\---

The big boss is Beck Laurdson, but Wade informs him everyone calls him Eel. It’s almost a favor, Peter notes aloud. Who names their child Beck? Deadpool laughs then, squeezing Peter’s middle and Peter tries to ignore how he feels his entire body flush. It’s not his fault the merc is insanely strong and muscle. He reminds himself that this is the man who he once found dismembered in a garbage can and feels a little less flustered. 

Beck is called Eel because he’s a slippery fucker, Deadpool informs him. In and out of the spotlight, hardly ever in the same place, and extremely difficult to get ahold of. It’s a wonder he has work at all, with how elusive he is. There’s been rumors of a buyer going around, asking for Eel and “discrete shipments”. It’s nothing concrete, but Peter trusts Wade’s judgement. He’s been in those circles for a lot longer than Peter has. 

Word is, Eel’s boys have been busy, scampering in and around the cities, popping in and out of the subway. It does nothing to quell Peter’s anxiety. If it is related to the subway it could take them weeks to find what they were looking for. Peter’s not a fortune teller, but he knows they don’t have weeks. 

The building they land across from is small and unassuming. Peter places them on the rooftop overlooking the street. Unlike their last sidequest, there were people here. Easily, Peter spots at least four guards and several semi automatic guns. Peter shifts. He really hates guns. 

Deadpool seems to read his thoughts, because he’s whispering over his shoulder. “I can take the guards baby boy, easy. You can be the scout. Then I can spend more time admiring that ass.” He winks and Peter steadily focuses on ignoring that last part, instead nodding and focusing on the unsecured door. 

“I’ll be the distraction.” And then he’s shooting out a line to climb onto the roof of the other building. He’s quiet and quick, before climbing onto the front of the wall, sticking there like a strange gargoyle. 

“Hey!” He calls down to the four men meandering around below. They all start and their guns come up to greet him, but he’s moved to the other side of the building. No one fires yet, but he figures he’d rather be safe than sorry. “Hi there!” He calls down again. “I’m your local Girl Scout! I was wondering if you would be interested in some Samoa-” 

This time he is greeted with a spray of bullets and he lets out a mock yelp, jumping a few feet away. 

A jovial voice joins from behind the four guards. “There’s easier ways to say you don’t like coconut you know.” The guns whip around, but Deadpool’s already knocked out one of the four men with the butt of his Desert Eagle covered in...Hello Kitty stickers? “Hi! I’m also a local Girl Scout. Rough year for recruitment, I know. Now, can I interest you in some Thin Mints?” 

He’s greeted with more gunfire. Peter wants to watch and appreciate the merc in action, a flash and whirl of red and metal, but instead he quickly makes his way inside the building, still stuck to the walls in spider fashion. 

The outside of the house was misleading. Despite the normalcy of dirty, leaf filled gutters and old shingles, the inside is stark and artificially cool. The main entrance gives way to two stairwells, one leading up and one leading down. Peter can hear a faint humming from below and he peers down the staircase. It’s dark save for a faint glow around the corner. 

He jumps when his spideys senses don’t alert him of Deadpool and the man presses up behind him. He’s quickly shushed by the merc and they both peer down. 

“Talk about Extreme Makeover Home Edition. Hopefully without Ty Pennington, that guy gives me the creeps.” 

Peter doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but that’s nothing new really. He’s itching to get down those stairs and locate the humming noise. Deadpool seems to sense it, nodding and pushing Peter forward a little. Peter resists the urge to cling to the walls, knowing it will come with endless teasing from the merc and instead settles for quietly padding down the stairs. 

They’re greeted with an open doorway which leads into a large room. It’s sectioned off with hospital dividers and Peter feels Deadpool stiffen behind him. Peter begins to slowly work the perimeter. This time, he does stick to the walls, crawling up over the ceiling, trying to detect the location of the humming noise. Deadpool has made his way to one of the dividers and is staring wordlessly at a medical cot. 

The humming is closest to the wall, Peter notes with confusion, pressing his ear against the wall opposite the doorway. It’s definitely stronger there. He presses sticky fingers along the surface, trying to find any give or indication. When he’s about halfway down the wall, he feels a slight _click_ and a small panel pops out. 

It takes him a few seconds to understand exactly what he’s looking at. It’s a metal device, a speaker on one end. There’s wiring, a faint glow, and Peter’s breath catches. That’s definitely a countdown timer. And according to the timer there’s four seconds left. 

Peter has enough time to call out Deadpool’s name before a terribly whining fills the room and things rip apart. 

\---

When Peter comes to, his first thought is that his face is cold. His head pounds and his ears feel like someone shoved cotton in them. He groans, blinking a couple times, white light seeming to blind him from every direction. 

“I see that you’re awake.” 

It’s a low voice, strangely familiar and Peter groans again, desperately trying to clear the fog from his senses. Everything hurts, and Peter is now dimly aware that he’s restrained, arms behind his back and legs pressed up against the cold, smooth legs of what he can only assume is a metal chair. 

“Where…” He rasps, blinking a few more times. Things are starting to settle and he can make out a blurry figure in the background, dimly light. He squints, shaking his head. It only makes the pounding in his ears grow stronger. Dimly, through it all he can recognize his spider senses flaring at the base of his spine. 

“Not very eloquent, I’ve noticed that about you.” That smooth, low tone, callous in this instance. Peter knows he’s heard it before. There’s the sound of someone taking definite strides towards him and he tenses. Finally, his eyes adjust to the person in front of him. He blinks two more times to be sure he’s not seeing things. 

Goddamnit. 

It’s Earl. He looks awfully proud of himself too, adjusting the links in his cuffs of his navy blue suit. He has a red striped tie on this time, impeccably white. He probably got dressed up just for the occasion, Peter thinks humorously and bitterly. 

“Hey man.” He croaks out, carefully feeling his fingers along the restrains on his wrist. “Could you like, not be evil and stuff? You’re really messing this up for my aunt, she hasn’t had a date in like a deca-” 

That’s all he gets out before a hand comes flying out across his face. Hard. Peter feels the bite of a ring and then the sting in his cheek as blood begins to pool on his tongue. 

“Ouch.” 

Earl hisses, grabbing Peter by the chin and pulling him forward. “Shut. The fuck. Up.” He growls. Peter tries to ignore how it sends danger signals screaming through his mind. 

He lands on joking again, because when has Peter Parker ever learned his lesson? “That’s clever. Really, I haven’t heard that one before.” 

He’s rewarded with another slap and he bites down on his lip, desperately twisting his hands against whatever is binding him. It must be strong material, cold and smooth like the chair. 

Earl smiles cruelly, leaning in a little. “Do you like your restraints? Stark Tech. All this time and he’s still letting weapons slip into the hands of criminals.” His mouth twists a little. “This metal is meant to withstand the Hulk. You can’t lay a scratch on it.” There’s a jingle and a pair of keys are being dangled in front of him. “Only way out is through me.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Peter wants to roll his eyes. This guy was like a textbook villain. The only way he could make it more obvious was to slap a conniving mustache on. 

“Not really sure what you’re aiming for here.” Peter comments like this is a casual conversation. One where he is not currently tied down to a chair. He notes, belated, and a bit too late, that his mask is gone. None of this seems to come as a surprise. He should have known about Earl. He should have trusted his senses. 

He continues. “I mean, you know who I am. A broke part time worker with a poor family, and sometimes I beat up bad guys. There’s really nothing left for you to unearth here.” 

He’s bluffing. He’s bluffing because he knows what kind of power races through his veins, and he knows many people who would want to get their hands on him. 

Earl casts him another dark and malignant look. “You have information. Plenty to give. Access to Avenger’s information, intel on Stark Tech.” His eyes glimmer. “The components of those sticky webs of yours. I’m sure there’s plenty of people willing to pay top dollar for the tech.” He shrugs coldly. “And who knows? Surely someone has use for an annoying mutant like you.” 

Peter laughs, hopelessly. “And you had to go through me to get all that? Surely there’s people you could pay to steal that information.” Even though it’s fruitless, his legs and arms won’t stop wiggling against the restraints. 

Earl is messing with something on a table, and Peter can’t crane his neck well enough to see what it is. 

“Running into you was pure luck. I will admit, I was captivated by your aunt. She truly is a beautiful woman.” There’s a clinking sound. “Imagine my delight when she tells me over tea that her child was a Stark Intern. Imagine my curiosity when I started digging into a certain Peter Parker’s records.” He chuckles again. “There was...quite the overlap between you and Stark. I couldn’t be quite sure. I had to have someone tail you after the dinner. You lost them pretty quick, swinging through the city.” His grin has split wide to reveal his teeth and Peter feels sick. 

“You used her. You used her to get to me.” Sweet Aunt May, who has never done anything to this man but trust him. She deserves so much more. It makes Peter’s blood boil. 

Earl tuts and shakes his head, turning around to reveal a syringe in one hand. “I didn’t use her. We’re still dating. I have brunch with her tomorrow morning.” The liquid in the syringe is a strange translucent shade of pink. “After I’m finished extracting what I need from you, you’ll go straight to Weapon X. And I can console your sobbing aunt, take care of her. Unlike you, I can do that. Don’t you see? Wouldn’t it just be better to give in? For the sake of sweet Aunt May?” 

Earl’s voice is full of faux sympathy and understanding. He doesn’t care if Peter believes a word he’s saying. He just cares that he’s hurting Peter. The needle in the syringe looks painfully big. He can’t stop his eyes from flicking over to it, an obvious tell. Earl smirks. 

“This is a truth serum. A little on the nose, I know, but I’ve always found physical violence to be quite unnecessary. So messy, and so little honesty comes from it. The mind though, it knows how to be truthful. You just have to give it the right push.” He’s right next to Peter and he desperately tries to get away, squirming and pushing against the restraints that refuse to budge. He feels his muscles straining against them. There’s a sharp pinch and Peter yelps as Earl pushes the needle into his neck, emptying the plunger. 

He doesn’t feel any different at first, just a sore neck. He’s about to launch a witty quip at Earl in an attempt to have some control of the situation, but then his tongue starts to feel heavy and he blinks, trying to curb off the strange sensation in his system. 

“Whaaa?” Is all he manages to get out before his head starts spinning a little. 

Earl kneels down in front of him, slapping his face again, lighter this time. 

“What’s your name?” 

Peter doesn’t want to answer him. “Peter Parker.” The words come tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall. 

“Are you Spiderman?” 

Thoughts are getting increasingly difficult and he blinks, holding onto what he knows is fact. “Yes.” 

“What’s your relation to Tony Stark?” 

Peter blinks, confused. What is his relation to Tony Stark? He’s not sure. A father figure, maybe? 

“Dad?” He slurs, like it’s a question. 

Earl scowls at him. “I don’t care about your weird emotional attachments to him, I mean as Spiderman you dipshit.” 

Peter blinks again, unsure of how to answer. Spiderman and Tony Stark? He’s about to answer when he hears a clatter. 

From behind them, a door is pushed open and Deadpool stands there, all six feet splattered in blood and viscera. He strides in, katana in each hand, pointing them casually at Earl. 

“Hello there. Nice to meet you, name’s Deadpool. This is a nice place you got, nice lotta boys out there. I made sure to be real friendly greeting them. I see you have something that doesn’t belong to you though. Care to hand over the little spider, nice and easy?” 

Peter in his haze, thinks that there’s something really off about the way Deadpool is speaking. He’s heard him joke casually, and he’s heard threats. This is a strange mix of the two and it makes Peter’s senses tingle, even as drugged as he was. 

“Very rude about the explosives. I totally was going to use more of them to have another birthday bash.” 

“Deadpool” Earl snarls, but he’s shaking. Earl is a businessman, not a hardened criminal, and he’s staring at Deadpool’s bloodied katanas with a look of fear. 

“Established. And you are?” Wade leans forward, squinting at Earl’s chest like he’ll locate a name badge. Peter finds it funny and snorts a little, lolling his head back. 

“His name is Earl.” The words push out slow but easy, like warm sap. Deadpool peers down at him. 

“Hi honey. How ya feeling?” 

Peter doesn’t know why that makes him feel so hot on the inside. So instead he shrugs. “Truthful” is what he comes up with, and then he can’t help the weak laughter that bubbles up from his own shitty joke. 

Deadpool looks to Peter, Earl, and then the syringe in Earl’s hand, whites of the mask narrowing with his eyes. 

“Whatcha got there, Earl?” Earl, shaking, drops the syringe and squeaks. Peter fills in for him. 

“Truth serum.” 

Deadpool blinks, then mutters, then swears in Spanish. Peter catches something about lazy writing. 

“Well baby boy, you wait right there. I just gotta finish unaliving this sleazeball real fast.”

That makes Peter frown and sluggishly begin to struggle. “No killing ‘Pool.” 

Deadpool makes a frustrated sound, but then he’s throwing down his swords and striding towards a cowering Earl. “This is better than you deserve, fuckface.” And then all Peter here’s is the heavy impact of skin on skin and screaming. 

Peter doesn’t look, partly because he doesn’t want to and partly because he can’t. His muscles feel frozen, like he’s been stuck in tar. When the screaming stops, Deadpool is in his space, tugging against the restraints with grunts. 

“Gonna get you out of here baby boy.” 

Peter sighs in what his brain registers as contentment. “I know. Keys are on Earl.” 

Deadpool pats his cheek, “Clever boy.” before turning away to fish for the keys. 

Peter frowns, brain foggy, trying to decide if that’s true or not. He decides he’s unsure and leaves it alone, sighing again in relief as his legs are freed, and then his arms. He tries to get up, but he’s not even strong enough to push himself up. Deadpool seems to register this, and Peter’s being picked up from under his arms and then cradled, bridal style. 

All Peter can focus on is how good Deadpool’s chest feels. It’s warm, radiating heat with such intensity that Peter absentmindedly wonders how he’s not burning up. The muscle is firm and spread wide, and although Peter knows blood is dripping from the merc, he can’t help himself from leaning his head against his chest. 

“You’re warm.” Peter sighs, and without thinking about it, curls his fists into Deadpool’s chest.

Wade makes a small sound. “Never thought it’d be like this. Okay well, maybe I had hoped it would be exactly like this. Still the writing here is really on the nose. Don't’ look a horse in the gift, or whatever. Out of date expression.” 

Peter makes a curious sound, then a statement. “Boxes.” 

Wade hums an agreement. “Just personal commentary Spidey. Keeping it real.” 

Peter frowns and pushes him against the warm chest, trying to catch sight of Deadpool’s mask. “How did you find me?” It’s not a truthful statement per se and Peter’s pretty sure it takes him about three times as long to get it off his tongue. 

Wade just hums again. Peter can feel him pick up stride. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, baby boy.” 

Peter makes a non-committal noise. “Torture.”

Wade says nothing and Peter knows it’s true. He wonders if he should feel flattered that Wade would go to such lengths for someone he barely knew. And then frowns, because there’s a lie sitting on top of his chest. Drugged and mind addled, he decides that this is the best time to come forward with this information. 

It comes out wrong from the beginning. 

“Wade.”

Deadpool stiffens, stopping to stare down at the hero in his arms. Peter feels the wind in his hair. They must be outside. He doesn’t have his mask on. Wade knows this much, he deserves to know-

“How did you know my name?” 

Peter licks his lips. Wade hasn’t dropped him yet, so that’s a good sign, but Peter’s brain is still moving at a snail’s pace and he wonders casually if Deadpool is going to kill him. 

“Dossier.” He admits. “Had a friend look into it for me.” 

Wade sighs, scrunches his mask, and starts moving again. “Yeah figures. Didn’t think my files were that hard to get into.” He sighs. “What else did you see baby boy?” 

Peter shrugs. “Not a lot that I didn’t know. Weapons X. Killed a lotta people.” He wants to stop there, but he can’t because whatever chemical is tickling his brain works really well. He settles for mumbling it. “Vanessa. Your kid.” 

Wade lets out a low whistle. “You know baby boy, I always figured it would be me who would crack first. A little light stalking, maybe camping outside your apartment to watch you sleep, like any good teen romance. But it turns out Spiderman is a little more crafty than I anticipated. I should know spiders like to weave their webs.” 

Peter can’t stop the words. “I’m surprised you didn’t look into me.” 

Wade glances at him. “Yeah, I’m not gonna pretend like that’s an incorrect assumption. But nah, baby boy. I wanted to get to know you the authentic way, real deal. Organic character building and all that shit. Slow burn, 200k words at least.” 

Peter doesn’t know what he’s saying. He tells him that. 

Wade waves a hand. “Unnecessary details, not relevant to the plot. Point is baby boy, if I was gonna find out about your identity, I wanted to know it the way anyone else in your life does. With trust. Sorry about the face reveal bee tee dubs. Totally not cool on big E’s part.” 

Peter feels like he’s swimming in several different versions of the truth. Does he trust Wade? Wade who has saved his life more than once now. Wade who is always up for food after a teamup, Wade who always pays the bill. Wade, who despite what everyone says, seems to actually care about the people he’s around. It comes bubbling to the surface like a fresh spring. 

“I trust you.” 

Wade blinks, then laughs nervously. “Are you sure it was a truth serum they gave you baby boy? Not that I’m not loving this conversation, dub-con aside.” 

Peter actually knows this one and he can’t help sounding a little cross. “This isn't dub-con because we aren’t having sex. And my safeword is mango.” 

He didn’t really mean to add the last part but the laughter that shakes Wade’s frame is worth it. 

It takes him a second to drift back to their original conversation. “Wade.” He whispers. Why is he whispering? Wade looks down at him, confusion written through his expressive mask. 

“My name is Peter Parker” He whispers. That’s about all he gets out, because then he feels a sharp rap on the side of the head and everything falls to black. 

\---

Peter comes to in a cocoon of cozy, soft material. He blinks, disoriented. This is the second time he’s awoken to an unfamiliar place, but this time it’s much more comfortable. He lifts his head to find himself in a massive bed, blankets and comforter worked up in a ball around him. He looks around, taking in the room. 

The walls are plastered in various superhero and porn posters. He cringes when he spots a large Spiderman poster right next to a shot of a woman’s strangely shiney breasts. Whipping his head in the opposite direction he spots a literal pile of ammunition on the bedside table along with a bottle of lube and knows exactly where he is. 

The previous night comes to him in waves. A bomb. Earl. The truth serum. Deadpool, dripping in blood. Deadpool, carrying Peter out. 

Peter reaches up to his face. His mask is there, although he recalls his bare cheeks and Earl’s leer. Wade must have put the mask on to make him feel better when he woke up. He wonders if Wade went back after to find it. It makes his chest feel strange. He tugs the mask off, crumpling it in his hand. No point to it now. 

He slowly makes his way out of bed. Nothing is too sore, he notes, save for a throbbing on the side of his head. He pushes open the bedroom door, glancing down the hall. To the left he can hear movement, a quiet clicking, and he follows the sound. 

There is Deadpool, in sweats and sweatshirt, cleaning one of his guns on the kitchen counter. His mask is still on and he looks up wide eyed at Peter. 

“Spidey!” He says, waving the gun part around in his hand. “Come in! Are ya hungry? I have some bacon in the fridge. How does eggs, pancakes, and bacon sound?” 

Peter wants to ask why the hell he was sleeping in Deadpool’s bed, but his head is pounding, and as if in response to Wade’s words, his stomach grumbles. 

Wade is up in a flash, already pulling ingredients out the fridge and motioning for Peter to sit at the counter. He does, hesitantly pushing aside metal bits, although he picks up one to fiddle with. 

It’s silent save for the sound of Wade whisking eggs. Peter’s anxiety hates it. 

“Wade…” He begins carefully. The man’s eyes are on him in an instant, wrist never stopping from mixing the yolk. Peter’s mind is blurry trying to run through last night. He’s positive he told Wade things he shouldn’t have. He knows he told Wade about the dossier, can hear the echo of Deadpool questioning him. His mind starts to catch up. He told Wade he trusted him. Peter’s face burns. It’s not like it’s untrue, but the fact of the matter surprises and embarasses him. He trusts the mercenary. 

He sighs, dropping the metal bit. “I told you things last night.” 

Wade laughs lowly, pulling out another mixing bowl and some flour. “You told me quite a few things last night baby boy, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Peter bites his lip. Is Wade angry that Peter invaded his privacy? He has every right to be. Peter can’t imagine how he would feel in the merc’s shoes. 

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, hands pushing back to fiddle with his web makers. “I shouldn’t have gone looking into you like that. You have your right to privacy like I have mine.” 

Wade makes a strange noise and Peter watches him dump a questionable amount of cinnamon into the pancake batter. It makes his nose itch. 

“Spidey, do you remember anything else about last night?”

Peter frowns, racking his brain. There’s something jiggling in the background, but his head throbs when he tries to focus on it. “Should I?”

Wade makes the strange sound again, setting down the measuring cup in his hand. He seems to stare at it for a second, deciding, before his shoulders tense. “You told me your name.” 

Peter blinks. Then blinks again. Oh. Shit. He desperately tries to remember his confession. Instead of answers, his head throbs again. 

“Ow.” He mutters, rubbing it. Wade looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I may have knocked you out in a panic after you told me. Didn’t want you telling me anything super important like address, mother’s maiden name, first pet.” He laughs lightly, but it sounds forced. His back turned, shoulders hunched, working quickly at the stove. Peter squints at him, watching him work away in the kitchen. He’s acting so strange, like he’s afraid of facing Peter.

Oh. Wade is worried Peter is angry at him. 

It seems so ridiculous. Just last night, Peter had admitted to illegally obtaining Deadpool’s full dossier, but Wade thinks Peter has the right to be mad at him. Because he told Wade his name. On a truth serum. If anything Peter is relieved. The choice has been taken from him and all cards are out on the table. He can be open with Deadpool now. Really he should give Earl another handshake.

He hopes Aunt May’s future taste in men will be better. 

He’s engrossed in thoughts, but the thought of Earl pulls him back out. 

“Wade?” 

Wade makes a questioning noise, flipping over a pancake. Peter can smell bacon grease. He’s suddenly starving. 

“What happened to Earl?”

Wade grumbles at that, poking at the pancake. “A little less than what he deserved. Got the shit kicked out of him and then I left him for the cops. They got him. Checked the news this morning. Didn’t figure that fucker would make it very far with two broken legs.” 

Peter chooses to look on the bright side. Wade didn’t kill Earl. He’d face justice. He desperately hopes Earl’s pockets aren’t big enough to have him on the streets again within the month. Unlikely. He groans again, makes a mental reminder to call Aunt May and warn her about the news. 

Wade slides a plate full of pancakes, bacon strips, and scrambled eggs. Peter’s mind goes on autopilot, grabbing the fork Wade hands him and beginning to scarf it down, only stopping when Wade offers him syrup. 

Wade chuckles, watching him. “Easy baby boy, don’t choke yourself.” 

Peter stops for a moment, eyeing Wade. “I’m not mad at you by the way. Even for the knocking me out part. I appreciate that you wanted to protect my identity.”

Wade seems to take a moment to process this, before he nods, mumbling a “sure thing baby boy” and turns around, flipping off the stove. Loading himself a plate, he scoots in besides Peter, pushing the mask part way up. Peter starts to think it’s unfair he’s the only one totally unmasked, but he has a feeling Wade is doing it due to lack of confidence, rather than secrecy. 

He tries again with his statement. “I do trust you Wade. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy like that. And…” He swallows his anxiety, trying to convince himself of what he knows it’s true. “It’s okay that you know my name. Like I said, I trust you.” 

He has no reason not to. Never has Wade given Peter a reason to believe he’s dishonest, or doesn’t have Peter’s best interest at heart. He’s reliable, always there when Peter needs him to be. And he’s a good friend. Peter closes his eyes, lets that sit for a moment. Wade’s a good friend. 

When he opens his eyes, Wade is staring at him. He can feel the man’s eyes through the whites of the mask. He fights the uncomfortable feeling of someone seeing his face. 

“I wish you’d take your mask off.” Peter blurts, then flushes. So incredibly rude. He tries again. “It would be nice to be able to see your eyes.” 

Wade looks down for a second and Peter backpedals. “Only if you want to! I mean obviously if you’re not comfortable, that’s fine, I’m just really really good at saying things before I think them out and-”

Wade pulls off the mask. 

It’s not anything Peter wasn’t expecting. There’s swirls and ridges of scarring, creating a thick layer of epidermis. Some of it looks old and healed, ready to flake off. Others look bright pink, shiny, irritated. He thinks that some parts of it look painful, but he holds back the comment. He doesn’t feel pity, he doesn’t feel disgusted. He just feels relieved. Like there’s no walls between them. 

Wade’s eyes are on him. They’re beautiful, Peter thinks. Perhaps a pale blue, almost gray. But there’s warm flecks of brown and green. He doesn’t mean to let the word slip out of his mouth, but it’s there tumbling out like the truth serum had just reared its head. 

“Beautiful.” 

Wade looks confused and says nothing. Peter thinks bitterly that Wade doesn’t believe him.

“Thank you.” He adds, pushing as much sincerity into the statement as he can. He turns back to his pancakes, shoving a fluffy forkful in his mouth. Delicious. 

Wade’s still so quiet. Peter tries to ignore the anxiety that gives him. Wade is allowed to be quiet, to have his own thoughts. It’s just confusing and very intimadating for the chatterbox to go silent. 

“How old are you?” Wade’s question pops the silence. 

Peter swallows another mouthful of pancake. “Twenty three.” 

Wade looks relieved, muttering something about alternate timelines and it falls silent again. Peter can’t help but watch him. Wade looks wrapped in thought and anticipation. Wade turns his head, meeting his eyes and then dropping his gaze. 

“Um. Would you like to kick it sometime? Not as Deadpool and Spiderman, but Wade and Peter.” 

So nervous, so unlike Wade. Or perhaps, Peter thinks, exactly like Wade and so not like Deadpool. The mask gives Peter the confidence to be who he wants to be. He’s sure the same could extend to the merc. 

He offers him a small grin. “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Wade smiles wide then. “You heard it here first folks! I’ve just scored a date with the one and only bubble butt Spiderman, as well as a secret unlocked identity! AND if you check under your seats, you’ll find the key to a freeee carrr!” He wiggles as he exclaims, pushing up against Peter a little bit. 

Peter just snorts, shaking his head. Back to normal Deadpool. 

Spiderman has a lot to deal with. Peter does too. Weapon X is after him, he’s sure of that now. He needs to keep an eye out on Earl. He’s undoubtedly missed dozens of texts from Ned and MJ who must be worried sick. 

For now he focuses on the newfound friendship with Wade Wilson and the happy humming in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a nine hour haze, and the only beta reader is ME, so apologies for any errors. this was meant to be like ten pages it ended up being fifty. please leave kudos and let me know what you think!


End file.
